


Work to Be Done

by pepperminttea3



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5852167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperminttea3/pseuds/pepperminttea3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jemma had known Leo Fitz for a long time, and if there was one thing she knew about her best friend it was that he liked his routine. So on the day Fitz skipped his usual breakfast of porridge with honey, opting instead for a single cup of tea, it was Jemma’s first clue that something was off."</p><p>Fitz is sick and stubborn. Simmons is concerned but easily distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work to Be Done

Jemma had known Leo Fitz for a long time, and if there was one thing she knew about her best friend it was that he liked his routine. He went to bed at the same time every night, woke up at the same time every morning, and dressed in the same tie-and-sweater combo almost every day. When he first got to the lab in the morning, whether it was at school or here on the Bus, he went systematically through the same tasks: turning on equipment, preparing his tools, reviewing his notes from the day before. So on the day Fitz skipped his usual breakfast of porridge with honey, opting instead for a single cup of tea, it was Jemma’s first clue that something was off.

When she entered the lab that day, Fitz was already absorbed in his notes of the previous day’s work.

“Good morning!” said Jemma cheerfully as she swept in through the automatic glass doors.

“Morning,” he murmured without looking up from the holo-table. They were in the middle of designing a new pistol that would only fire when handled by its owner, but were having some trouble with an overexcited response mechanism. Ward, their first guinea pig, had sustained minor burns to his right hand the day before when he had tried out the first of their prototypes.

Fitz scrolled through 3D renderings of his initial designs with one hand while the other drummed absentmindedly on the table, his brow furrowed in concentration. It made Jemma smile to see him so focused. Fitz always looked pale—in fact, in a moment of weakness she had once screamed at him that he was pasty—but today his face looked particularly pallid and drawn. She noticed dark circles under his eyes and her smile faded to a concerned frown. That was the second clue.

Jemma slipped on her lab coat and began uploading the results of yesterday’s tests to a separate screen, leaving Fitz to his designs. While she secretly enjoyed their bickering over the best way to approach a challenging project, Jemma had learned from experience that when he was wearing his “concentrating” face, it was best to let Fitz be.

She busied herself with analyzing the handprint samples they’d taken from Ward, May, and Coulson, but couldn’t ignore the periodic sniffling that had started behind her. Fitz had pulled up the holographs so that they hovered in midair like a screen in front of him and was punching in rapid calculations, eyes darting left and right. His nose wrinkled and twitched each time he sniffled, sounding congested and irked.

Distractedly, Fitz brought a wrist to his nose and swiped at it before continuing his calculations. He was so absorbed in his work that he seemed not to even realize what was about to happen. His mouth hung slightly open as his breathing quickened and hitched, until he finally took a deep breath in, eyes closed.

 _“h’idzsccchh!”_ Fitz muffled the sneeze into the crook of his arm. Jemma watched, slightly amused, as he gave his head a small shake and returned his gaze to his calculations, eyes watering slightly. Clue number three.

“Bless you!” she said, coming around the table so that she was directly behind the holograms.

“Oh,” said Fitz, as though he had just realized she was there. “Em, thanks.”

“Now get out.”

“What?” said Fitz, eyes wide and looking affronted. “Why the bloody hell would I do that?” 

“Because you’re sick!” 

Fitz blinked, taken aback, but recovered quickly. “And what gives you that idea?”

“Well,” said Jemma, going into scientist mode, “You, the man who’s always hungry, skipped breakfast today, you look exhausted, and you haven’t stopped sniffling all morning. I think I’ve known you long enough by now, Fitz, to know when you’re sick.”

“Well, you must be getting rusty then, because I’m n _oohh_ \--” He paused for a moment to get his breathing under control. “Not sick,” he finished.

“Hmm,” said Jemma, grinning.

“What, _Hmm_?”

“You have to sneeze, don’t you?”

Fitz glared at her for a few seconds, then turned away. “Absolutely not,” he said, pressing a loose fist under his nose and sniffling quietly. 

“Irregular breathing, watering eyes, increased nasal congestion, yes, I’d say it’s only a matter of seconds before you—”

“heh….h’ud _zcchh_!” Fitz sneezed again into the crook of his arm, paused, then straightened up, stiff, not looking at Jemma. 

“Bless you,” she said again. “Now, will you please go back to bed before I ask Agent Coulson to order a full-scale medical examination for you? A medical examination, might I remind you, that I will perform, at which time I will declare you unfit for duty and send you straight to bed anyway?”

“You wouldn’t do that!”

“Wouldn’t I?”

She gave him a look that dared him to try her. Fitz just shrugged and turned back to the holograms.

“Coulson specifically requested this weapon as soon as possible. You can’t possibly finish it without me, and you know it. So, when he sees that I’m perfectly fine and you’ve stopped me working for the day, what do you think he’s going to say to that?”

Jemma opened her mouth to reply, but Fitz cut her off.

“It’s your choice—you can send me away and try to repair the broken response mechanism on your own without your brilliant best friend by your side, or I can stay here. Your call, Agent Simmons.” 

Jemma frowned as she tried to come up with a response, but for once she was at a loss for words. She knew Fitz was right.

“Fine, but I’m going to be monitoring your vitals, Fitz, and at the first sign of fever I am kicking you out of this lab.”

~~~

The team of FitzSimmons never let anything get in the way of a task. It was one of the reasons they had been recruited for S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place—they got the job done no matter what. They were extremely intelligent, incredibly focused, and endlessly innovative. But right now, one half of them was having trouble concentrating.

Things were not going well. The second version of the handprint-sensitive pistol zapped Jemma with electricity the moment she touched it. The third wouldn’t shoot at all. The fourth sprouted small flames and had to be doused with a miniature fire extinguisher. 

Jemma’s enthusiasm for the project was fading fast, and so, it seemed, was Fitz. It was clear that he wasn’t on his game. He leaned with his elbows on the lab table, eyes squeezed shut with one hand rubbing his temples. 

“It’s got to be a problem with the handprint samples we took,” said Fitz tiredly, his voice growing deep and hoarse with congestion. “There’s no other explanation.” 

“I’ve already said, those handprints were perfect,” said Jemma, slightly needled. “They rendered spotlessly in the system. Are you sure you’re calibrating it correctly?”

“Yes, everything’s adjusted properly, but it’s difficult to align an entire pistol to the prints of someone’s hands when I can’t be sure they’ll be holding it the same way every….heh…h’id _zsshh_!” Fitz sneezed forcefully into the crook of his arm and reached for a tissue from the box Jemma had placed beside his workspace.

“Maybe we should take a break. Clear our heads for a bit?” Jemma suggested. For Fitz, the ‘clearing his head’ would be literal, she hoped. “Are you sure I can’t give you a dose of pseudoephedrine?”

“Listen, you developed that antidote—“

“—Antiserum.”

“Whatever it was, while you had a bloody alien virus coursing through your body that was about to blow you into tiny pieces. I can keep working on this gun just fine, thanks very much.”

Jemma eyed the four failed prototypes, but said nothing. Short of crushing up some cold medicine and hiding it in his tea, she couldn’t force him to do anything. She cringed as Fitz coughed harshly into the crook of his arm.

Jemma wished Fitz didn’t feel the need to be so tough and noble these days. She supposed it had something to do with sharing missions—not to mention a living space—with highly trained S.H.I.E.L.D. specialists, particularly Agent Ward. But she didn’t think this would be the kindest time to remind him that he wasn’t—didn’t have to be—Agent Ward. 

They heard a knock and looked up to see Skye entering the lab, a laptop under her arm. 

“Hey, guys,” she said, settling in on a stool where she liked to hang out when she got bored of scouring the internet on her own. “Still working on that print-responsive pistol?” 

“It’s nearly done, alright, I just need a bit more time to tweak a couple of things,” said Fitz impatiently.

“Woah, what’s his problem?” said Skye, looking at Jemma.

“He’s ill,” she said, and Skye made a sympathetic noise while Fitz rolled his eyes.

“I am not ill, I’m just focused on getting this done,” he said, his face bent over a microscope that was directed at the latest iteration of the gun.

“You really do look sick,” said Skye, which Fitz ignored. Then Skye peered a bit closer at what Fitz was doing under the microscope. 

“Are you mapping the pistol to a whole handprint?” she asked curiously. 

“That’s the idea,” said Jemma, sighing slightly. “But we’ve been having a bit of trouble, as you can see.” She indicated the failed attempts sitting on a workbench off to the side. 

“H’ _nxk_!” 

Both girls looked over to see Fitz straightening up after stifling a sneeze into his arm.

“Bless you,” they said in unison. “There’s no way I want to catch whatever you have,” added Skye, shutting her laptop and hopping off the stool. “So I’m gonna head back upstairs. But it seems to me like you guys need to simplify the problem.”

“Whad do you mead?” Fitz asked, looking up from the microscope. 

“I mean, when I’m monitoring multiple data streams at once, I don’t check each one separately, that would take way too long. I—”

“—Channel them all into one central platform, yes!” cried Jemma. “Fitz, we don’t need to map the biomechanics to the entire device, we just need to—”

“Focus od the locus of condtrol ….which would coudteract the over-responsivedess of the firing bechanism—” 

“—And solve the overheating problem as well! Skye, that’s brilliant!” beamed Jemma.

“Uh, guys? English please,” said Skye, tilting her head quizzically.

“We’ve wasted hours trying to get the entire gun to respond to the agent’s grip, when all we really need to build is a biologically responsive trigger!” explained Jemma, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “And it’s thanks to you that we realized it.”

“Glad I could be of service,” said Skye, backing out of the lab as she watched Fitz recover from a quick coughing fit. “I’ll be upstairs if you need any more brilliant ideas. And Fitz, don’t work too hard, okay?” 

But FitzSimmons didn’t hear her last comment; their heads were bent together over the holo-table, hands flying over the screen as they began new and improved plans. Fitz muffled a sneeze in his sleeve as the door shut. 

~~~

“Has anyone seen FitzSimmons lately?” asked Coulson as the team ate dinner together in the small lounge off the galley. (Well, Ward, Skye, and he were eating dinner. May preferred a solitary meal most nights.)

“Last I saw them they were still down in the lab, working on the bio-sensitive gun,” said Skye through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “But that was a little after noon.” 

“Good, I hope they keep working on it until they get it perfect,” said Ward, rubbing his burned hand. It was nearly healed from the ointment Simmons had given him, but it was clear that he wasn’t keen to repeat the experience. 

“Have they eaten? I’ve seen how they get when they’re focused on a project. Their professors told us that even in school they would sometimes work through the night.” There was a wrinkle of concern on Coulson’s brow as he reached for the communication panel and entered the code for the lab. “FitzSimmons?”

“Yes, sir?” came Simmons’ breathless voice a few seconds later. 

“Just checking in. How’s everything going down there?” 

“Oh, fine sir, just running some final tests. In fact, sir, could you ask Agent Ward to join us in the training room in about ten minutes?” 

“It would be my pleasure,” said Coulson, smiling benignly at Ward, whose eyes had grown wide. 

“Well, Agent Ward. Seems you’re needed below.”

“Fine,” said Ward as he got up from the couch. “But this one better not blow up at me.” 

~~~

All said and done, Jemma couldn’t be prouder of their final product. Skye’s insight had allowed them to make some vast design improvements, and the result was better than she could have hoped. Of course, it had meant having to test and fire a real gun, something she hadn’t done since the Academy, but she didn’t quite trust Fitz to stay on target in his condition.

Jemma smiled as Ward came slowly into the large training room where she and Fitz were waiting.

“Ah, Agent Ward, thank you so much for coming.”

“Like I had a choice,” he mumbled. 

Jemma just beamed, unfazed, and Fitz said, “It will be fidne. Dno explosiodns, dno fires. We prombise.” 

“You’ll notice,” Jemma continued, standing squarely and raising the pistol in both hands, “that the gun will allow me to hold it, but refuses to respond to my touch.” And she pointed the gun squarely at Fitz and squeezed the trigger.

Ward yelled and dived in front of Fitz. Jemma just giggled as Ward realized that Fitz was in no danger and rolled his eyes. 

“Why, Agent Ward, I’b touched,” said Fitz. “I had do idea you cared so buch about….heh…H’II!” Fitz leaned as far away from Ward as possible and stifled a sneezed into the crook of his arm. It seemed to take him a moment to recover, but he raised his head and flashed a shaky smile at Ward, who was frowning slightly.

“Ward, would you like to try it?” asked Jemma.

“Why not?” Ward stepped a few paces to the side, grabbed the pistol from Jemma’s outstretched hands, and fired at the punching bag across the room. The response was almost instantaneous. It was as though he had merely thought about pulling the trigger and the gun had already fired.

“Wow,” was all he could say.

“I know, it’s pretty spectacular, isn’t it?” said Jemma proudly. “Now, I can’t hand it over just yet because we’re still making one or two modifications and we’ve got to produce copies for May and Coulson, but, you like it?”

“It’s great,” said Ward. “Can’t wait to tell the team.”

“Yay!” said Jemma. “I think we’ll make our modifications tomorrow,” she added, glancing at Fitz, who was paler than ever and using a sleeved wrist to discreetly wipe at his twitching nose.

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” Ward agreed. “See you tomorrow.” As he walked past Jemma, he added quietly, “Take care of him.” 

Jemma nodded resolutely as Ward left the training room.

“H’it _ZCHSSHH_!” Fitz sneezed again into his sleeve and turned to walk back toward the lab.

“Fitz, wait!” Jemma called, prancing after him. “Fitz,” she said again as they entered the lab. He didn’t seem to hear her as he began packing away his things for the day. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. That got his attention.

“What? What are you sorry for?” he asked with a sniff.

“For not taking better care of you. I knew you were sick. And you can’t deny it now,” she added as he opened his mouth to protest. “But I just got so caught up in the excitement of finishing the pistol that I didn’t even bother to ask how you were feeling or check on your symptoms or anything. I’m sorry,” she said again with a half-smile.

“Jebba.” The congestion in his pronunciation of her name made her cringe. “You dodn’t have to take care of be. I wandted to findish the project just as buch as you did. It’s how we are.”

“But we’re friends. Partners. And I let you down. But I’m going to take care of you now. Sit down over here.” 

Fitz smiled slightly as he sat where she had indicated without argument. Jemma pulled on latex gloves and began taking his temperature, concentrating on the screen where the data was feeding steadily. Fitz rubbed his temples as she worked. It had been a long day.

“Well, you definitely have a fever,” she sighed, “Let’s get you upstairs where you can rest.”

Fitz didn’t bother disagreeing.

~~~

“Well, Ward, you seem to be all in one piece,” said Skye as Ward came back into the lounge.

“Yeah, the gun actually worked great. I think it will be a huge asset in the field.” 

“And how are the Whiz Kids? Fitz wasn’t looking too good when I was down there earlier.” 

“Everything alright?” asked Coulson. He was making himself a drink and preparing to head back to his room.

“He wasn’t looking great a few minutes ago, either, but I don’t think it’s anything serious,” said Ward. 

“Still, we can’t have one of our team members working himself to exhaustion. The best agents know their limits.” Coulson dialed the communication panel once again.

“FitzSimmons?” Nothing met his call but silence. 

“Must’ve already headed to their bunks. Simmons said they would finish up modifications and production tomorrow,” Ward provided.

“Good,” said Coulson, satisfied. “Think I’ll do the same. G’night, everyone.”

~~~

“H’it _ZCHSSHH_!”

Fitz sneezed forcefully into a tissue from the box now sitting by his bunk. Jemma waited until he was done blowing his nose before coming around the corner with the soup she had brought. She would have preferred to put together something homemade, but ingredients were scarce, it was late, and she knew Fitz hadn’t eaten all day. Condensed was better than nothing.

He gave her a weak smile as she set the bowl down beside him. 

“You know you don’t have to do this,” he said hoarsely.

“I don’t have to, true, but I want to. How many times have we taken care of each other over the years? Strange injuries from lab accidents, or being dead tired after long days at the Academy…”

“Well, you’re definitely right about that,” he said. “Thanks for the soup. But you should probably go. I don’t want you to catch…this… _heh…h’udzsscch! __”_

“Bless you. And we were working together all day in the lab. If I haven’t caught it by now, I’m never going to. So tell me,” Jemma said, settling herself cross-legged at the end of his bed. “Why didn’t you just take a sick day?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. agents don’t take ‘sick days,’ Jemma. Work needed to be done, so I did it. Do you think Agent Ward—”

“Aha!” Jemma pointed one finger at Fitz.

“What?” 

“I knew this had something to do with Ward. Fitz,” she said more kindly, scooting closer on the bed and putting one hand on his shoulder. “We might be S.H.I.E.L.D. agents now, but that doesn’t mean you should stop being who you are, and it also doesn’t mean that you’re not allowed to show any signs of being human! Yes, Ward is, I suppose, kind of a robot. But you’re not weak,” she added, seeing the protest in his eyes. “You’re just ill. It happens to everyone. Even agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to lay it on so thick, I’ve got it.” He took a bite of soup and sighed as the hot liquid seemed to warm him. “So, how do I get rid of it?”

“You know as well as I do that there’s no cure for the common cold.”

“Only because you haven’t got round to inventing it yet.”

“Ha ha,” said Jemma sarcastically. “I can give you soup, and some acetaminophen and pseudoephedrine for now, but that’s about it, unfortunately. You’ll just have to ride it out. How are you feeling?”

“H’ID _JJSSH_! Bloody awful,” Fitz admitted, catching the sneeze in a hastily-grabbed tissue. He was slumped back on his pillows, but straightened up immediately as Skye came bounding into the sleeping area. 

“Hey guys. How’re ya feeling, Fitz?”

“’M fide. Should be at a hudred percent by toborrow, id fact.” He attempted a reassuring grin, but didn’t quite achieve the intended effect as his features faltered and his breath hitched.

“ _Heh_ …h’NXK! H’NNXT!” Fitz stifled the forceful sneezes in a fresh handful of tissues, keeping his face buried in them for second longer than necessary.

“Right,” said Skye. “Well I’m gonna hole up in my bunk before I catch this. See you guys in the morning. Feel better, Fitz!” 

He nodded, averting his eyes. Skye grabbed her toiletry bag and headed for the bathroom.

“Alright, definitely time for meds and bed,” said Jemma. She handed Fitz a small paper cup of pills and a glass of water. “You will wake me up if you need anything, won’t you?” she asked, her eyebrows knit together with concern. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. It’s just a wee cold,” Fitz said. “You’ve done enough for me as it is. You should get some rest.” 

“Alright. But don’t bother getting up tomorrow, I’m going to tell Coulson you need a day off, biochemist’s orders...”

Jemma’s last words trailed off. Her friend was already dozing off. 


End file.
